Crossfire
by L.MacQ
Summary: A strange woman does Wade a favor, and he returns it. Wade/OC, oneshot.


She was pretty, he guessed. A little too pale and a little too lifeless, but you know, kinda pretty. In a weird, hippy, artsy, random girl you pass over on the bus, kind of pretty. Wade crossed the room quickly, ignoring the calls of his fellow service men – bunch of whining pansies, if you asked him- to come back and stay at the table, like they'd been told.

"What's your name?"

"Meg." She said, not looking at him as she gestured for another drink. She slid it in front of him as it arrived.

Wade smiled at her, "Meg, huh?"

She nodded, her half lidded eyes watching him cautiously from across the table. Green eyes blinked heavily at the handsome man an arm's length away. Tilting her head, she took in every detail of his face carefully, remembering the photo tucked away in her pocket. He was so different…

"Meg what?" He asked, quirking a brow at the young mutant across from him.

Staring at him a moment, the woman asked what he meant.

"I meant," Wade rolled his eyes, "what's your name? Like your full name."

"What's yours?"

"Wade Wilson."

She smirked, her dark red lips twisting in amusement as she answered, "Megara."

He pursed his lips at her. "Gee, thanks for being so open and giving, Meg."

Her shoulders rose and fell, absent of any outward feeling. "You're welcome, Wade." Meg's smirk widened as her eyes slipped over the bar, "you're a mutant, too, huh?"

The man stiffened, surprised by her question. Gaping at her, he managed a fumbled, "what?"

A fine brow rose at his puzzled, some would say fearful, expression. "Is that a no?"

"Yes! I mean, no, well-why? What're you?" Wade snapped.

A smile lit up her face, and his heart stopped for a moment. He swallowed, caught off guard by how the easy grin changed her. She was beautiful, just in a more subtle way than the women he was used to parading around. She shrugged daintily, more alert now, "we all have our talents, Mr. Wilson."

"What're yours?"

Running a hand through her blonde hair, she beckoned the bar tender over. "Watch this." She pulled her top down a bit, giving more than a hint of skin to anyone who dare take a look. Wade, of course, one of the select few who did. No one was paying any attention to them, he noticed, even his brigade had stopped watching over him. With the red of her bra poking out of her tight black top, the woman smiled at the man attending them.

"What's the tab, pussycat?" Meg asked, biting her lip as she leaned towards him. Her fingers brushed his tie, as though correcting it. A feather light touch followed, sweeping some invisible dust off his shoulder in a familiar manner, as one might do with an intimate lover.

A swell of envy rose in Wade. He shook it off quickly, unsure where it had come from as the man in front of them stammered, "N-no charge tonight, Meg."

She smiled innocently at him, "oh, but-"

"No charge," the man said firmly, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips in a kiss. His light eyes caressed her face tenderly as he smiled at her. Wade watched the exchange in awe, noting how soft Meg's expression had become, almost pitying, as the man turned away from them to bus a table.

"What was that?" Wade asked, grinning from ear to ear. She shrugged, taking a sip of her water. Her features once again hardened, and her dark eyes swept over his face. "Well, come on, Meg, you can't leave me hangin'!"

She put her glass down. Tearing her eyes away from him, she rimmed the edge of her glass with her finger. "It's your turn, Wilson."

"My turn?" He asked. A brow quirked again, and he smirked cockily at her. "Oh, baby, you are in for a show."

Meg didn't doubt that, just stoically took touched her glass. Her eyes went to the bar tender who was going about his job, completely clueless. A dopey, happy grin on his face; one of a man deeply in love. She really hated that look.

"But I can't show it to you here." He told her, following her gaze. "He gonna be okay?"

"He's gonna wake up with one hell'va heart ache, but," She shrugged, "he'll be fine."_ I hope_, she added mentally. Turning back to him she asked, "Can't show me here?"

"Too many normies." Wade said, scrunching his nose up in annoyance, "always ruining my fun."

She smirked, "Damn public."

"Damn right, come on." He was giving her a wide smile that turned her stomach. But she returned it as she stood.

Sometimes, Psyche really hated her job. She followed the young man, handsome in his own, youthful, arrogant kind of way she supposed, out into the darkness. He spun to face her as she stepped into a deserted alley way. A devious smirk on his lips he approached her quickly, but she didn't back away. Even when his hand cupped her face and he glided her back against the wall, she didn't so much as flinch.

She saw no need to. Instead, Megara took his free hand and thumbed the inside of his wrist. The results were almost instantaneous. His heart slowed, and his brown eyes fluttered down at her before closing. His arms tucked themselves around her waist and he buried his head in her neck as he sighed contently.

"Meg…are…are you?"

"Am I what?" she asked quietly, touching his face in a manner similar to what he had been doing to her only seconds before. Soft waves of comfort and warmth rolled off her fingertips intentionally. A mew escaped her throat as his heart continued to beat at a painfully slow pace. She could kill him like this. Put him to sleep and let him never wake up.

But she didn't want to. She was sick of her job. Sick of her lifestyle and most of all sick of hurting people. When she'd joined the Brotherhood, she hadn't signed up for this. Offing people –seemingly nice people- in dirty alleyways for their friends, sometimes family to find.

"What's wrong, beautiful?" Wade's words were starting to slur and he sighed happily as she lowered him to the ground, "f- frisky li'l thin' are…" His eyes closed again as he slummed back against the wall. A light snore slipped from his lips, earning a smile from Psyche as she crouched down next to him.

"Well, Mr. Wilson, it is your lucky day…" She told his unconscious body as she pulled a photo out of her jacket pocket. His information was scrawled on the back of it –age, name, address- and it was folded in a manner that hid his face from the public's view. She knew who he was. What he did and why the Brotherhood wanted him dead. But killing just wasn't in her nature. So she pulled a pen out and wrote a brief, but meaningful message on the back of the paper. Eying it with a smirk, she pressed her lips to it, leaving their mark in bright red. With that, Psyche pinned it to his chest with one of her bobby pins and left him there for his friends to find.

**-Two Months Later-**

"Quit starin' at it, Wilson."

"Why? I'm just so damn handsome in it. Look at those cheekbones!"

Victor rolled his eyes, "never thought I'd see ya go soft over a girl."

"She wasn't just some girl!" Wade grinned, "She was a member of an evil mutant terrorist organization and she spared my life, no doubt because of my beautiful face, god she must've fallen for me the minute she laid eyes on this picture!"

"Maybe she figured she'd just let me do 'er job for 'er."

Wade ignored him, going on excitedly as he looked at the photograph. "Or maybe she's really a secret Russian agent, you know like in those spy movies when-"

"Wilson." The younger man paused and looked over at Victor's brother, James, "stop torturin' yourself, kid." He smirked at Wade's falter, "that's Victor's job."

His brother grinned sadistically, "damn right it is."

"But, come on, you guys have to see the awesomeness in this right? I mean, I turned a girl back to good! I'm like Jesus just with a really warped sense of humor and a murderess instead of a whore!" Wade argued, annoyed no one was praising his greatness.

"Wade, shut up," John Wraith said from the other side of the living room. "She ain't never comin' back, and you ain't never gonna see her again, so just let her _go_, man."

Crossing his arms, the sandy haired man pouted as the others joined in, in agreement. "Way to suck the wind out of my sails, guys." Muttering obscenities under his breathe, Wade tucked the photo into his breast pocket and left the group. Then the room deciding he'd rather be alone. The trip to his quarters was a short one and he locked the door behind him with an audible _click_. In an uncharacteristic silence he crossed the, admittedly small, room to a dresser. He opened the bottom drawer. Resting on his knees, he pulled the picture from his photo.

It was an old one, one of his high school year book photos. He didn't seem quite so carefree back then, with his eyes boring into the camera's lens angrily. Wade hated this picture. Hated the bruise he could see hiding under his collar, not from a hint of it on the film, but from memory. Hated who gave it to him. Hated who he looked like in it.

Pursing his lips, he turned over the image to read the message on the back.

_Look me up when they let you off of the leash, Meg_.

Wade smiled, just a tad, and touched the imprint left by her lipstick. He could hardly remember her, honestly. Just her pale, yellow hair and striking green eyes. Everything else was kind of a blur. Something she no doubt caused intentionally. Well…that and she'd saved his life. But he hadn't known it at the time. Stryker had filled him in on the hit after he started carrying the photo around.

Tucking it away safely in the drawer, Wade slipped out of the room. Casting his dresser one last look, he went to train for the upcoming mission.

**-The Next Day-**

Wade stepped out of the elevator with a smirk on his face. He fit right in with the guests, each adorned in extravagant costume and make up. His swords, strapped lovingly to his back, appeared to be nothing more than part of his costume as he wandered aimlessly through the crowd. He watched them a moment, before pulling his swords out.

And chaos ensued. At first, people were unsure of what was happening, but soon enough panic set in. Men and women rushed toward the exits, only to find them locked as one crazed man tore the room apart.

Soon enough, the visible last body hit the floor. But he knew there were others. People hiding. Cowering under tables and behind the bar. Decided to check the tables first, whistling causally as he spun the blades in his hands.

The first tablecloth was thrown off with a flourish, as was the second and third, but he found no one underneath. Soon all the tables were discarded, flipped over angrily as he hunted around the room for survivors.

"Come on, I know you're here somewhere! Just make this easy on yourselves and come out!" He began skipping around to the bar, "_Come out, come out wherever you_-" He slammed his Kanata down hard on the bar, electing a cry from the woman underneath it. "_Are_!" He licked his lips, a sadistic grin widening on his face. "Come on, girlie. Out'cha go."

There was a moment of stillness before a sigh was heard, and a blonde mop of hair came into view.

"Hello, Mr. Wilson."

Wade's heart stopped at the sight of her. Her features were pale, her eye make up, a striking red liner and lipstick, staying in their places perfectly, some how. Meg's eyes bore in to his, disappointment clear. He dropped his sword and backed away from the counter.

"Get out of here." He muttered, looking away from her.

"How?" She asked, a calm air about her as she left the bar. Meg looked over his handsome features, shaking her head, "so angry…"

"Shut up, Meg." He snapped, glaring at her, "you don't know shit."

Her lips pursed, and she pulled off the helmet she had been wearing. "My real name's not Meg." She offered him it. He took it with unsteady hands, "And I can do a lot more than fiddle with your emotions."

Wade met her stare curiously. "Is that right?"

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He had it all planned out in his head. Their first meeting would be romantic, maybe he'd rush in and save her from a mugging, sweep her off her feet. He wasn't supposed to let her see this side of him.

"Yeah. You know why I let you go?"

He shook his head.

"You've changed." She smiled lightly at him, but it fell when she swept her eyes over the carnage around them, "but maybe not as much as I had hoped."

Looking down at the winged helmet, he pursed his lips. "Maybe people don't change."

"Maybe." Psyche agreed, but a sigh escaped her lips shortly after. "But I hope they do." She took a step closer to him, watching as he stiffened as she did so. Her hand slipped over his. "Don't let him fool you, Wade."

His brown eyes met her green ones, "He wouldn't do that to me."

"You don't sound too sure about that." Meg squeezed his hand. "You're just another mutant to him."

"Maybe. But he's just another human to me."

She heard the catch in his voice but ignored it. "Whatever you say, doll." Kissing his cheek gently, she turned from him. Opening a nearby window, she looked at him one last time. "Take care of yourself."

"Thank you." He murmured, looking at her as she started out the window.

She smiled at him and once again his heart skipped a beat, "no, thank _you_."

Wade grinned at her, "damn right. Now get that little ass'a yours outta here before I change my mind."

And she did.

**A/N**: I'm thinking of doing a second part of this oneshot…I haven't decided yet. Gosh, I've missed writing Wade. The pic is on my profile, as usual, and I'm thinking of writing a Victor Creed/OC, but I need an idea. So if you have one, send it my way.


End file.
